


Balter

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Drama, Dress Up, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Inspired by the season eight photo shoot for entertainment weekly, Post Series, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 05:52:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13851423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: He was going to have a heart attack in a thousand-dollar suit.





	Balter

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own "The Walking Dead" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: Inspired by the Entertainment Tonight photoshoot for the start of season eight. It literally took me this long to finish because this show is far more disappointing than my daydreams and even they are starting to run thin.
> 
> Warnings: set post-show, established relationship, romance, drama, intimacy, dress-up, mild sexual content.

He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at when Carol's low coo of delight reached him from the other side of the hall. Getting a glimpse of hanging white sheets, massive standing lights, cameras and a long banquet table covered in a layer of dust as he turned. The dark wood set like a centerpiece in the middle of the room before Carol shifted and blocked his view.

"What?" he grunted, more demand than question. Cocking his head in the safety of the door-frame as Carol moved further inside. Turning back to grin at him as the room came back looking pristine. Clean and untouched, save for the dust.

"They must have been setting up for a photo-shoot," she told him. Watching him side-eye the high-backed wooden chair at the head of the table.

And for good fucking reason.

_It was big enough to hold three people!_

"What? For a magazine or somethin'?" he asked, more or less to keep the conversation going as he crossed the room and squinted at the colored post-it notes still stuck to the table cloth.

_Candelabra – Dave, I need longer candles for this by 5:30pm. Try Pier One._

_Apples._

_Grapes._

_Jam Preserves? Pudding? – Check with Lydia._

_Bowl of peaches/nectarines._

_Wine glass A._

_Wine glass B._

_Champagne flutes – Crystal._

He didn't catch on until he looked around and noticed a three-tier cart shoved up against the emergency exit. Inadvertently barring access from the outside when shit had gone down. The only things missing from the cart was the fruit. Which was probably a good thing considering it would have only stunk up the place when it'd eventually rotted.

"Could be," she replied. Wetting her finger as she paged through the binder on the cart. "Hey, I liked that show! The last few seasons were kind of bad, but I loved it when it first came out. Looks like the cast were set to do a photoshoot promoting the new season."

He was about to ask what the hell she was talking about when she pushed back one of the long sheets framing the studio and made that damn sound again.

"Oh! Look! Aren't they gorgeous?"

The sudden wash of color after all the whiteness made him blink. Feeling like he was momentarily color-blind as the red, white and blue dresses  _swish-swished_  on the rack as she wheeled it over.

 _Huh._  
  
"There's a rack of suits too," she commented, poking her head around the other sheet. Already shaking the dust off the blue dress and holding it up like she was making some sort of decision.

He eyed it, admitting it looked around her size. Attention more caught by the sheer of the fabric than anything. How it looked almost metallic and shiny one minute, then sinfully soft in another.

_It was…nice._

He shifted wearily. Eyes flicking over to the other rack she'd mentioned. One looked like it was a black on black suit and the other some sort of tux or somethin'. That one had a bow-tie instead of a tie. He had no fuckin' idea why. Hell if he knew anything about it. He'd never worn a suit in his damn life. The way he looked at it they were useless now anyway. Unless you planned to hang yourself with the tie or somethin'

He looked up, realizing she was looking from him to the black suit with a stare that was almost-

And oh-  _hell no._

He knew that look.

"No," he told her firmly. Backing up like a car kicked into a sudden reverse. Getting caught up against the massive arms of the chair as she followed him like he had a magnet in his ass.

"Daryl..." she wheedled, picking up the suit by the hanger and shaking off the worst of the dust. Holding it up against his shoulders as the soft material made his skin twitch. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"We should get back," he reminded, shouldering his crossbow like that decided things. "The only reason we stopped was because the place was locked up tight. Tobin still needs those two-by-fours for the wall."

Her expression went from playfully to pleading, and the part of him not running on pride knew it was basically downhill from fucking there.  
"For me? Please?"

_Dammit._

"This is stupid," he grouched, but still taking the suit she handed him with a toothy grin. Leaving him with a drive-by kiss and the press of her rifle-butt against his thigh before she disappeared behind the billowing white sheet with the blue dress and a shoe box full of sparkly shit.

"No peeking!" she hollered like a parting shot. Able to  _feel_ the grin he knew was all but splitting her face as she left him spluttering. Unable to stop thinking about it as the idea of her slipping out of her clothes on the other side of the sheet made him feel like all kinds of a pervert.

He'd deny to his dying day that he fucking blushed.

Still, the sound of her laughter was a lingering thing.

Lasting despite the echoes the room seemed keen to swallow up.

It was one of the things he hated about the world these days.

All the empty rooms.

Empty houses.

Empty everything.

That part had surprised him.

He never thought he'd miss people.

He looked down at the suit wearily. Letting the hook dig into the meat of his palm before shrugging it into the gap between his thumb and forefinger. Wondering if there'd ever been a future, back when the world was whole, where he could have been standing here with her without a trail of dead friends – dead family – stretched out behind them.

The material of the suit jacket was soft against his callouses as he shrugged and headed over to the opposite end of the room. Dumping the clothes on the cart before he shrugged out of his leather vest with a grunt.

Stupid or not, it didn't matter anyway.

There wasn't a language out there where he could say no to her.

'Sides, it'd been a long time since she'd smiled this much about anythin'.

He figured that alone made it worth it.

* * *

He was tugging at the sleeve of the jacket, worrying his lower lip like he was half-convinced he should just gnaw it right off, when she pulled back the curtain and stepped into view.

The sudden drop of his jaw actually hurt, stretching the ligaments.

She was fucking beautiful.

She always was.

Always had been.

But this?

This was somethin' else.

She did up his tie without him having to stammer it out. Brushing his throat with hands that were now sporting rings and sparkling jewelry - all those useless things people used to spend their money on. Feeling like he was half-suffocated already even though she did the tie up loose.

She had a grin on her face - stupid and beautiful - as she took a step back and twirled around. Blue dress sparklin' something fierce. Making the dingy skylight above them look like a spotlight. Flaring the material around her ankles as soft, satin heels did something  _amazing_  to the tilt of her hips.

His mouth was already dry.

This just pushed it past painful.

"You like?" she asked, playful again like she knew  _exactly_ what she was doing. Getting him all riled up as sweat pricked under the collar of his dress shirt.

"Yeah," he returned hoarsely, more or less struck dumb by it. Realizing it'd been a long time since he'd seen anyone dressed to the nines. It wasn't like there was an occasion for it anymore. Finding clothes that fit, sure. But caring what they looked like? Nah. Which made the idea of finding an occasion to wear them was almost foreign at this point.

At least that was what he figured anyway.

He vaguely remembered the party Deanna had thrown before all this.

That was the last time he remembered anyone even mention the worda dress or tie.

"You look good too you know," she breathed, feeling it tickle the small hairs on the back of his neck as she did a close circle around him. Humming appreciatively. Shivering under his skin in a way that had nothing to do with cold.

Wanting to kiss that smile a little wider on her face until he remembered that he could. _That he was allowed_. That they'd come that far and after all this time and if there was anyone alive who had that right, it was him.

But the thing was, he still didn't.

_He couldn't._

Not like that anyway.

He didn't have it in him.

And that was a good thing, most days.

Instead, he ducked his head like it was a question anyway. Relieved when she read him, just like she always did. Going up on the tiptoes of her ridiculous heels to kiss him all messy and slow.

It was all the permission he needed.

"We don't have much time," he breathed, nudging into the feathers of her hair and kissing her neck as he hiked her on top the table with a gentle jerk. Feeling the catch of her dress against his dress pants as she sprawled into his lap. Smirking through the dust as her hands snaked down to tug playfully at the buttons of his slacks.

"No," she hummed back, getting all cheeky as she made him groan. Head wanting to thud back into empty air as she pulled his cock out of his slacks and gave him a slow, deliberate jack. The rings on her fingers added a whole new sensation into the mix as he leaned back and let her hold court above him like the god damned queen she was. "I figure we'll have just enough."

He was going to have a heart attack in a thousand-dollar suit.

He just fucking knew it.

* * *

He'd barely zipped himself back into the dress pants when the shrill blast of a whistle made them both jump. Hands sliding down the cool satin sequins of her dress as he helped her down from the table.

"Walkers," Carol murmured tersely. Satisfied smile thinning out as reality took a big fucking dump on their good mood. Adding adrenaline back to sated muscles as he leaned down and grabbed his bow. Trying to shrug out of the suit jacket before Carol passed him - small hands tugging him with her - shaking her head.

"No time," she bit off, grabbing her clothes and stuffing them into the sack half-full of instant soup, tea, sugar, coffee grounds and whatever else they'd managed to salvage from the break room.

He cursed and followed her out, snagging his shit as she cracked the door to the hall and led the way out. Dress hem trailing behind her as she raised her semi-auto and peered into the gloom like she walked around in high heels all the damn time rather than never.

And yeah- he couldn't deny that even as they fought their way out if the building, part of him never stopped being distracted by it. Watching her with more than just want and admiration as she crouched down. Aiming at a squirming mass of walkers trying to block them into a dead end. Dress hiked up to show pale calves and freckle-flecked thighs as the kickback shimmered down the material of her dress.

He figured it made her look like some sort of misplaced modern god or somethin'.

He knew it sounded stupid, but it was what it was.

That was what she looked like- there in that moment.

Fierce, vengeful, dangerous, but still broken open somehow- still vulnerable.

Like the fall from grace had never been something she'd been able to get over.

She looked like that right up until the moment broke and so did the door to their left. Slamming open with a kick and a warning yell as the cavalry arrived - just in time.

* * *

"Nice threads," Tara whistled when they made it outside. Cheeks burning as Rick and Michonne grinned at him. Knowing the rest of them were fucking  _ogling_  or some shit as they headed towards the trucks. Chuckling like a bunch of idiots as he glared balefully. Choosing not to confront the fact that there was little to no heat to it when he stomped through the long grass. Dress shoes glinting with a dusty-shine. Already digging into his heels like all new shoes tended to until they were broken in a little.

"Shut up," he growled, ducking behind the hang of his fringe as the  _clip_ - _clip_ - _clip_  of Carol's heels added a strangely cheerful rhythm he wasn't sure what to do with. Squirming under the weight of the other's eyes as the cut of the slacks seemed to cling to god damned  _everywhere_. Making him feel like he was wearing next to nothing as the urge to adjust himself began to get pretty fucking pressing.

Carol knocked his shoulder gently before they got to the trucks.

One of those all in one gestures he'd never really questioned.

"You're making this up to me later," he grunted. Ignoring the way she was trying to catch his eye. Smug smile fucking obvious as Enid giggled something behind them he was glad he didn't catch.

"I'm looking forward to it," Carol purred back, firming into him significantly before pulling away to talk to Maggie. Strutting off with her hips doing that…  _thing_. Leaving him cursing himself for being so fucking easy as he lowered his bow to cover the way his cock twitched against the seam of his fancy slacks.

_God fucking damn it._

That woman was going to be the end of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Reference:
> 
> * balter: to dance gracelessly, but with enjoyment.


End file.
